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‘That’s it?’ asked Torj Elderbrock, another Guardian. ‘We’ve come all this way, only to jump back in the boats and go home?’

Wilder bit back a huff of laughter. Torj might have been favoured to be the next to undergo the Great Rite, but he often opened his mouth without thinking first.

‘Had something better planned, did you?’ Talemir asked, brows raised. ‘Missions from the guild getting in the way of your social life?’

‘No, sir. I was just saying —’

Talemir shook his head, and it was enough to shut Torj up, his cheeks aflame.

Malik trudged back across the sand to address them. ‘We’ll head back shortly. But first I want you to scour the shores for any sign of a drake. Scales, tracks, anything that might suggest one was here. They’re powerful creatures. Thezmarr needs to know if there’s one somewhere in our midst.’

‘Do you think it came through the Veil?’ someone asked.

‘Possibly,’ Malik allowed. ‘Though it’s also entirely possible that it’s been beneath our seas all this time. They’re creatures of the ancient deep, after all. Now go.’

There was a flurry of movement. Wilder went to the shore. Resting his hand on his sword pommel, he surveyed the pale sand glistening in the midday sun. Besides the Warswords’ bootprints, it was entirely smooth, not a disturbance in sight —

‘Tal,’ Malik called from nearby. ‘You smell that?’

Wilder whipped around, watching as his brother and his mentor grew suddenly tense.

‘I smell it,’ Talemir replied, unsheathing his two swords at once. ‘Guardians, get in first formation.Now.’

The Guardians burst into action, following their orders, and as Wilder joined them, he smelt what their leaders had been talking about.

Burnt hair.

The scent of the shadow wraiths.

‘Think it was a trap?’ Talemir muttered to Malik, who brandished his sword and heaved his shield in place.

‘Well, it doesn’t look great, does it?’ Malik replied, with a meaningful look at Wilder. He was always doing this, ensuring that Wilder heard certain things, but never explaining them.

A screech shattered the quiet of the Broken Isles, and masses of darkness materialised on the dunes before them.

Wilder and his fellow Guardians unsheathed their own blades, sticking to the formation as ordered.

‘No one but Malik and I are to engage,’ Talemir shouted. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir!’ came the unified reply.

‘Your blades won’t be able to pierce their chest cavities, do you understand?’ Talemir reiterated, not taking his eyes off the wraiths that now emerged from the swirling shadows.

‘Yes, sir!’

Wilder joined in the chorus, but his knuckles burned from the tight grip around his sword. He had been training every moment of every day since he’d arrived at Thezmarr years ago. He wanted to spill wraith blood, and he wanted to do so alongside Malik the Shieldbreaker and the Prince of Hearts.

‘Three against two,’ Malik said to Talemir.

‘I can count, you giant oaf,’ Talemir responded fondly.

Malik took a step towards the wraiths, swinging his sword menacingly. ‘I’ve got several examples where that’s debatable.’

‘Quit your griping,’ Talemir told him. ‘Only one of us is called the Prince of Hearts.’

Malik laughed. All the while, the monsters stalked towards them. ‘I wasn’t under the impression that had anything to do with battle heroics.’

Talemir grinned. ‘A gentleman never tells.’